The Keyboard Is Mightier Than The Sword
by ThatOneFlyingMintBunny
Summary: Author and editor Arthur Kirkland had a fairly normal life, if you ignore his annoying secretary, but that's when things started to get weird. All of a sudden his characters start appearing in the real world, and things get worse when Arthur gets kidnapped into his own writing, by the main character! Will he be able to write a happy ending for himself? (USUK, Franada, and more!)
1. Chapter 1

_The rancid smell of blood and death wafted through the usually peaceful village of Tirianae. Bodies lay heaped in the streets, innocents slain by the vile General Braginski and his army. Alfred grimaced as he dwelled upon the image these poor men, women and children would have seen shortly before they perished- the scene of steel, blood and murder._

_As Alfred trudged through the village, sword in hand, he noticed increasing evidence of Braginski's powers over ice. Soft snow, stained crimson in some patches, lay melting on the path Alfred trudged, and icicles hung dripping from thatched roofs and broken windows. The troops must have left here recently._

_Alfred was here for one reason, and one reason only. He surveyed the half-frozen and bloodstained village for any sign of his foe. If he could only find out which direction the cruel ice mage had taken, he would find him. The Marked One. Little was known of the man, only that he was to be the saviour of this land. Alfred himself only carried a small piece of ripped parchment with him, torn from Braginski's notebook. Etched upon it was a sketch of a man in a mage's robe, with messy hair and a scar on the back of his left hand. Alfred could not see his face._

_As Alfred searched through the fallen debris of some nearby huts, a large crack rang through the air. Alfred turned to face-_

"Arthur, mon ami! I've got your files and tea!~" a heavily accented voice rang out in the gloom of Arthur Kirkland's office. Arthur sighed, saving the story he was writing and turning to eye Francis, his secretary, with annoyance. The blonde Frenchman stood in his doorway holding a cup of tea in one hand and a large wad of paper in the other.

"Francis, I told you not to interrupt me when I'm writing," Arthur said, exasperatedly, as Francis stepped into his room and set paper and tea down on the Englishman's desk, "But thank you for the tea." Arthur took a sip, wincing when the burning liquid hit his tongue. He dismissed Francis with a wave of his hand. However, the annoying secretary remained, peering over Arthur's shoulder in an attempt to read his story.

"Oh? Has Alfred found _l'amour _yet?" Francis said cheekily, earning himself a glare from Arthur, before the Englishman turned back to his writing.

"It's not a romance novel, git," Arthur grumbled, typing out a few more sentences. Arthur had just encountered Chun-Yan, a female warrior who also happened to be General Braginski's wife.

"But a novel without romance is a novel without life!" Francis said, aghast. Arthur pointed to the paragraph with Chun-Yan in it, deciding that this was the fastest way to get Francis out of his hair.

"She's married to Ivan."

"But they both die, _non_?" Francis countered. Arthur shot him yet another harsh look, and Francis took this opportunity to reach towards Arthur's keyboard and hastily write a few sentences. Arthur slapped his hand away, and glared at his computer screen. It now read:

_Etched upon it was a sketch of a man in a mage's robe, with messy hair and a scar on the back of his hand. Alfred could not see his face, but he felt strangely attracted to the mysterious man. He held the picture close to his heart, a blush dusted on his face. It was foolish for him to fall in love with a picture, yet he had._

Arthur growled, deleting Francis's words. The Frenchman looked proud with himself.

"See, _mon ami_? Much better."

"Coming from someone who writes bloody romance novels about _himself _on the sly. Now get out, frog, I like my version better." Francis gasped, a look of mock outrage on his face, but when Arthur hardened his stare, the Frenchman slunk out out his office. Arthur shut down his computer. Francis had ruined his writing mood. Instead he looked at the files Francis had left.

They were all writing applications from budding authors, some who were practically begging Arthur to edit their newest stories. Arthur flicked through them, pausing to read some that caught his eye. The life of an author/editor for "Hetalia Publishing" sure could get busy at times, and the 20 or so applications on Arthur's desk actually marked today as an easy day of work.

The editor quickly spied a work from one of his usual clients, Kiku Honda, a japanese manga artist who wrote fantasy stories in his spare time, and who was also a good friend of Arthur's. Arthur set the manuscript aside- he would read it later. The next story Arthur picked up was a sci-fi, and it looked promising enough. At a first glance it appeared he shared a first name with the protagonist, which was interesting. He began to read the first few pages.

_An alarm pierced through the gentle tranquility of the spaceship, waking all who slept inside. Captain Arthur Clarkland sprung up from his sheets, already reaching for his gun. He could hear the panicked shouts of his crew in the background, but all that mattered was that he isolate what the problem was._

_The alarm for intruders had rung. Art only hoped that they weren't who he thought they were. He creeped along the corridors, blaster gripped in his pale hands. As he had feared- there they stood- The notorious space pirate group "The Deadman's Trio". Epine, Weillschmidt and Hernández- each with a vile grin on their faces. Epine carried a electric whip on his belt, which crackled with energy, his companions preferring the traditional blaster guns._

_Art wasn't afraid of pirates, for he was one himself. But he __was afraid of "The Deadmen", although when facing him this was hardly ever apparent. He turned the corner he was hiding behind and pointed his blaster directly at the rival pirate group. Weillschmidt snarled at him, wanting to raise his own gun but being unable to without being shot. Art noticed Epine reaching for his whip and fired a warning shot._

_"Epine, Weillschmidt,_

_Hernández," he greeted coldly._

Hernández returned the favour, "Clarkland."

_"What the-"_

"Bloody hell!" Arthur shrieked, cradling his scorched hand. The spilled remains of his tea formed a large puddle on his desk, thankfully not staining any of his documents. Arthur inspected his hand. This was the fifth time this week he had spilt tea on himself whilst reading, and the evidence of this was showing- a permanent burn mark took up most of Arthur's left hand. He mopped up the spillage with some of the tissues Francis had put on the side of the desk after the 3rd time he had spilled tea everywhere. Arthur mentally thanked Francis for a moment before he realised what he was doing, instead turning to mentally slapping himself for even thinking of thanking The Frog.

* * *

"So you wish to arrange a meeting with Mr. Smith?" Francis asked, writing down this on a pink clipboard.

"Yes, the sci-fi author," Arthur replied, handing Francis the manuscript. He had half finished the story, and he was quite intrigued by it. Francis skimmed the text, raising one eyebrow appraisingly.

"You do realise-"

"Yes, I know the the protagonist and I share a name. Is that a problem, Francis?" Arthur said warily, fixing Francis with a glare. Francis nodded, turning away and heading out Arthur's door.

"And you call _me_ narcissistic..." The Frenchman mumbled, just loud enough for Arthur to hear. The Brit scowled, barking one last order at his secretary.

"And fetch me some ice!"

Francis slammed the door behind him, leaving Arthur to boot up his computer again. He opened his precious word document, and began to write.

_And turned to face a short woman, her auburn hair styled in two buns, tied with yellow ribbons. Her appearance closely resembled the foreigners Alfred had met a while back whilst sailing on the high seas during another epic adventure. Dirt and blood marred her pretty face, and she wielded a small kitchen knife._

_Alfred kept his sword at the ready, in case the woman attacked him, although judging by her appearance, she looked more like a survivor of Braginski's attack than a warrior. Alfred approached her warily._

_"Who are you?" he asked, and the woman frowned at him, a calculating look on her face._

_"That is what I should ask you, aru. Are you another of Braginski's brutes here to finish me off? Because I __will fight you if you are, aru," she snapped, her hands tightening on her makeshift weapon._

_"Alfred Franklin Jones, of the Order of the Paladins. I heard this village was attacked and was sent to investigate." Not a complete lie, but still evading the truth. Alfred held out his hand, and the woman took it graciously, all traces of bitterness gone._

_"Thank you, aru." Alfred pulled her up to her feet, and the duo headed off towards the end of the villiage. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon._

_"We should set up camp," Alfred announced, "It's getting late."_

"So, three o'clock tomorrow, is that fine?" Francis suddenly spoke, once again interrupting Arthur's tranquility.

"Yes, right, fine," he mumbled.

"And here's your ice."

"Put it on the table." Arthur was starting to suspect that Francis was loitering around just to annoy Arthur. It was working.

"Nothing else I can help you with?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_."

"Really?" Oh, the Frenchman sure was getting on Arthur's nerves, alright.

_"YES_." Arthur decided to ignore Francis and start typing again.

"Are you _sure _you're sure?" Francis said cheekily.

"YES!"

"Will you go out with me after work?"

"_YES!_" It took a while for Francis's words to register in Arthur's brain, but when they did, he blanched. "I mean-"

"Okay then! See you at six, _mon cher_!" Francis said, leaving Arthur's office.

"DON'T YOU _MON CHER_ ME, FROG!" Arthur yelled after him, but the Frenchman was already too far away.

* * *

The date, if you could even call it that, was awkward, to say the least. After Arthur, had refused to pick Francis up, the Frenchman had pulled up to his apartment and had practically kidnapped the Brit, forcing him to go to whatever ridiculously named French restaurant Francis had chosen.

The restaurant was crowded with happy couples, and Arthur spent the night ordering expensive French wine to drown his embarrassment in, whilst Francis, who was the one that was supposed to be interested in the date, spend his night flirting with a cute waiter.

_Please let no one I know see me,_ Arthur repeated in his head like a mantra, _To whoever's listening, I beg you, please-_

"Arthur-san? Is that you?" Spoke a short japanese man. Kiku.

Arthur groaned, downing yet another glass of wine in hopes he would forget this night. Kiku walked over to Arthur, a look of concern crossing his face as he noticed Francis.

"Go away, Kiku... I'm in enough misery already, please, just leave me to die in peace..."

To his annoyance, Kiku instead pulled out a chair, sitting down next to his British friend. "What are you doing here, Arthur-san?"

Arthur clumsily refilled his wine glass, feeling a bit tipsy already. "I could ask you the same thing, Kiku. What brings you to this dump? Francis dragged me here, to answer your question."

Kiku nodded in sympathy."A friend of mine just started working here. I came to visit. Unfortunately, I haven't seen him yet." Arthur noticed that their waiter, who had been called back to the kitchen moments before was arriving, presumably to take their order. Arthur hoped that was so, as he was starting to feel hunger knowing at him.

"Excuse me sirs, may I- Kiku?" The waiter that Francis had been flirting with said, cocking his head in surprise.

"Konichiwa, Matthieu-san," Kiku greeted politely. The two began to talk to each other- discussing everything from the weather to hockey. Francis looked rather put out by it all, irritable after having Matthieu's attention derived from him. Arthur suppressed an amused chuckle at seeing the jealous Frenchman try to cope with having the limelight drawn away from him.

"Oh! Look at the time!" Matthieu suddenly exclaimed, glancing at a red and white watch on his wrist, "I need to be back in the kitchen now! Bye Kiku! Bye Francis!" He started to blush, "Ah- sorry for ignoring you earlier, Francis, I just... Can I have your number?"

Francis looked surprised but none the less pleased, scrawling down his phone number on a napkin, and handing it to the flustered-looking waiter. Kiku and Arthur watched the exchange with mild amusement. The waiter shyly thanked Francis and rushed off to the kitchen.

"A bit of an odd character," Arthur remarked, setting down his wine.

"But none the less handsome, _non_?" Francis remarked. Arthur shrugged.

"I suppose." Although, in the back of Arthur's mind, he had a nagging feeling of deja vu.

* * *

Arthur watched the clock in his office tick by. It was well past three, and still the author of the intriguing science fiction had yet to arrive. He began to doodle absentmindedly on his notepad, dreaming up ideas for his book, he imagined how the current scene would play out.

_The fire crackled in the darkness, releasing a torrent of small sparks and embers in to the air. Chun-Yan and Alfred sat, discussing each other and similar nonsensical things. Alfred gazed at the starry night sky, reminiscing of times when he was younger and more carefree, nights spent staring into the heavens. He would stay up late with his twin, Matthew, and watch the stars. _

_"What are you thinking about, aru?" Chun-Yan asked, watching Alfred with mild interest. The paladin tore his eyes from the sky and his mind from his memories, and turned to face his companion._

_"Just remembering," he answered simply, stoking the fire with the tip of his sword. More embers flew into the dark sky._

_"Remembering?"_

_"My childhood. When things were better. Before Braginski's evil corrupted the world."_

"Nice unicorns," a loud, American voice spoke. Arthur snapped out of his trance to find that his doodles had morphed into the horned horses. Arthur directed his gaze at the unwelcome intruder of his office.

_Bloody interns... _Arthur thought, shooting daggers at the man. He had wheat-blonde hair, with one stubborn-looking lock sticking up defiantly. The man wore glasses, and behind the glass were the most startling sky blue eyes Arthur had ever seen. The man raised his hands up in defense.

"Uh... Dude, you _are _Arthur Kirkland, right? I had an appointment," the man stuttered. Arthur was suddenly hit with a mixture of realization, surprise, and disappointment. _So this is Frederick Smith. Honestly, I was suspecting someone less, for a lack of a better word, obnoxious._

"Ah, yes, Mr. Smith_. _Please, take a seat," Arthur said, gritting his teeth. Frederick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, sitting down on one of the plush chairs that stood in front of the Brit's desk.

"So, Mr. Smith. I arranged an appointment to discuss your novel," Arthur took a deep breath, knowing that the next few words may condemn him to a couple of months of hell.

"I wish to edit your work."

The grin Frederick gave him was so huge Arthur thought that his face would split open.

"Thanks dude!" He reached across the desk and shook Arthur's hand frantically.

_Here's to the age of earache._

**A/N: Here's my first Hetalia (and by extension, my first USUK) fanfic! In case you didn't figure it out, here are some of the nations' names (some:**

**Art Clarkland= Pirate!England**

**Epine= France (Taken from one of France's original human last names)**

**Hernández= Spain (From the whole Hernández-Fernándezconfusion)**

**Weilschmidt= Prussia (Again, an early last name)  
Chun-Yan Wang= Fem!China  
General Braginski= Russia  
Matthieu= Canada  
Frederick Smith= America**

**Comments and constructive criticism is always welcomed!**

**EDIT: Changed Canada's name to Matthieu instead of Matthias, to avoid confusion. Also fixed some things.**


	2. Chapter 2

_A short young boy with messy blond hair stood, hand entwined with a older woman who he had grown to know as someone not unlike a mother to him, staring at the door to the room that may very well change his life. He was scared. It wasn't everyday that one met their new parents._

_The old woman seemed to sense the young boy's distress and squeezed his hand, trying to send him comfort. Then she opened the door._

_The boy's first impression was red hair. Lots of it. Two grumpy-looking adults with amber hair watched over two boys with flaming locks and a sprinkling of freckles, while a teenager stood to the side with more ginger-ish hair. The blonde boy froze, unsure of his new "family". He hid behind the old woman, not daring to make a sound._

_One of the boys turned towards the blonde, and immediate rush of relief fuelled the blonde's courage. _

_At least he wouldn't be teased about his eyebrows._

_The red-head beckoned the blonde forward, and the shy boy slowly shuffled over to him. No more playing with imaginary friends from now on._

_"H-hello!" He said to the red-head haltingly, "M-my name is-"_

"Arthur!" A blinding amount of pain shot from the back of the English writer's head as Francis smacked it with the palm of his hand, trying to wake his boss up. Arthur's nose mashed into his keyboard. Groggily, he lifted his head up, rubbing his aching nose and glared at Francis, mumbling a slur of curse words.

"What do you want, frog?" Arthur snapped, but Francis seemed unfazed.

"I was just gong to tell you that me and Matthieu are going out for lunch, so I'm bringing in Evan to do my job for me for a couple hours, mon ami," Francis explained, already half way out the door. Arthur froze, worry suddenly gripping him. Evan was the new security guard and it was no surprise that Arthur was bloody terrified of the Russian man. In fact, he even closely resembled General Braginski, the main antagonist of Arthur's books.

Arthur composed himself fast enough to throw a crumpled bit of paper at Francis's back and make a face at him as he left Arthur's office. Sometimes Arthur's own level of maturity astounded him.

* * *

Arthur stared, wide-eyed, at the blank screen.

The electronic background of his computer lit his pale face up with a white glow, but Arthur's fingers did not move on the keyboard, did not type. He glanced down at his hands, and then back up at the screen, and with some hesitation, wrote a sentence.

It was terrible. He cringed, erasing it much faster than he had written it. (_At least Francis may have approved, _he thought sourly.)

He gulped. This was the thing that killed creativity, murdered muse, and destroyed authors. He had heard of it before, but had yet to experience it, as his head constantly exploded with the flow of imagination and intricate story line of his novel, as if he had lived the story and was writing it all from memory. Alfred's world never seemed so far away, never seemed so out of touch.

Arthur had caught the dreaded disease of writer's block.

He cradled his head in his hands. He could feel a headache coming on, and he sipped his tea, but it did little to calm him. He ended up looking at his work files, clicking on to Frederick's document. Maybe he could at least achieve some simple editing whilst in his frustrated state of mind. As he scrolled through Frederick's story he felt another migraine come on, but this one for a different reason. The story Frederick had written had little mistakes, and those that were present were minor, unlike the American's rushed-looking emails he had sent Arthur, riddled with spelling mistakes and horrific grammatical errors.

If fact, the story had some subtle but clever bits of humour, feisty and interesting characters, and scenes that instilled extreme emotion in Arthur's heart. He even teared up a bit at the ending, where Art died. All together it seemed something that Frederick could simply not achieve. Arthur just couldn't imagine the brash American writing such a magnificent book, but Arthur had learned you should never judge a book by its cover.

He had experienced this far too well.

He felt his eyes glass over.

_"Artie? Artie! Where the bloody hell are you, you twerp? Off playing with the fairies again?" A red-headed teenager sneered, a malicious expression on his face. Arthur hid in the closet in his bedroom, sniffling a bit and hugging his unicorn plushie. He was only eight years old, and already his arms were littered with bruise marks from far too rough play._

_The doors to the closet were opened with a tremendous force, and Arthur screamed in terror as his older "sibling" stared down and him, yanking his arm up and throwing him down on the floor. _

_"Found you!" He yelled, cackling, causing Arthur to scream again._

Arthur shook his head, trying to rid himself from the memories. He was no longer a wimpy child, and Allistor couldn't terrorise him. He was an adult, far away from Scotland. Arthur sighed, closing his computer, just as his cellphone rang, blaring the new obnoxious tune Francis had set it as.

"Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland, CEO of Hetalia-" Arthur began, tiredly.

_"Artie!" _an all too familiar voice yelled, _"It's Mattie! He's been kidnapped!"_

"...What."

_"My older brother, dude! Some French guy just grabbed him from the front doorstep!"_

Arthur sighed. So Matthieu was Frederick's brother. He should have guessed, the two looked remarkably similar.

"Frederick, I think I know what's going on here, and no, Matthieu hasn't been kidnapped."

_"... You know Mattie? What happened to him?!"_

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you. He's dating my secretary. And anyway, why would you go to me for help?" Arthur leant back in his chair. He was expecting another headache to come on, but Mistress Fate seemed to be going easy on him, as Frederick's ever so annoying voice had yet to make the Englishman's head split in two.

_"I thought you would know him! He passed me on the way to your office; I called you 'cause I thought he was one of your clients. I didn't know Mattie swung that way."_

"You sure don't know much about your own brother." Not that Arthur could relate, as he never had any biological family and had never really connected to his adopted kin.

_"He was living in Canada for most of my life- our parents had a divorce. I just found him when I moved to London, working in some French restaurant!"_

"Wonder what brought him to London," Arthur mused, taking a bite of the _not-burnt-at-all_ scone (despite Francis saying otherwise) he had baked this morning, "Anyways, I am glad to have been of assistance in locating your brother, Frederick."

"Bye then, Artie!" Arthur could almost sense the American's cheeky grin over the phone line as Arthur scowled at the nickname.

* * *

It was late at night when Arthur finished his work for the day. He had yet to have gotten rid of his horrendous writer's block, but he had gotten some massive editing work done on Kiku's newest manga novel, Nurato- not being a native English speaker, the Japanese manga artist's work was full of spelling errors.

Francis had yet to return to the office, leaving Arthur to be checked up on every half-hour by Evan, sometimes at the least expected moments. Evan had a permanent smile and 'sweet' demeanour, but the tall man was utterly terrifying when angry. Arthur suspected that his secretary's "lunch break" had turned into more of a "ditch work-and-spend-the-whole-day-flirting-leaving-Arthur-with-the-one-man-who-scared-the-hell-out-of-him" kind of thing.

Either way, it was time for Arthur to go home anyway, and so he packed up his computer, stashed it in his shoulder bag, picked up some documents and walked out the door.

What he wasn't expecting was an annoying American acquaintance of his to walk into him, spilling the paper Arthur was carrying all over the floor.

"Bloody hell, Frederick! Can't you see where you're going?!" Arthur picked himself off the ground and started gathering up his spilled documents.

"Sorry Artie! I was kinda waiting for you, and I guess I wasn't paying much attention," Frederick nervously rubbed the back of his neck and then bent down to help Arthur pick up his paper.

"You don't even have an appointment, why are you here?" Arthur snapped, grabbing the paper Frederick had gathered from his hands, and began to walk away.

"Hey! I just came around to thank you for helping me find Mattie!" Frederick protested, jogging up to Arthur. The Brit scowled.

"You could have called."

"I did! But the line was dead or something!"

Ah. Arthur had unplugged the phone when his migraine had returned with a vengeance a few hours ago. Even so, Frederick should have phoned Evan. Or maybe the terrifying Russian had scared him off.

Arthur kept walking.

"Hey! To make it up to you, why don't I get you dinner, Artie?" Frederick jogged slightly to catch up to Arthur, his tone apologetic. Arthur merely scowled, picking up his pace.

"Don't walk away! Artie, how else am I going to apologise for knocking you down? After all, I hate being in debt to someone!"

_"After all, I hate being in debt to someone!" A young blonde boy with shining blue eyes said, sitting down next to Arthur on a stone bench, as he playfully swung an arm around the grumpy orphan._

Arthur snapped back into reality by Frederick shaking him on the shoulder. He hadn't realised that he had frozen in place, and that his green eyes had taken on a glassy look to them.

"Dude, are you OK?" Frederick asked, and Arthur slapped his hand away, sighing.

"I suppose, just this once, I'll accept your apology."

Arthur heard Frederick cheer childishly at this, and at this Arthur rolled his eyes. In accepting Frederick's offer, he had in turn apologized himself for spacing out.

After all, it wasn't Frederick's fault he looked just like Arthur's old imaginary friend.

**A/N(ThatOneFlyingMintBunny):**

**Sorry for taking so long to post this "^J^ The wifi here in Sicily is a bit iffy.**

**My best friend and fellow Hetalian (though she may deny it), ParallelDimension75, Beta-d this chapter.**

**Say hi, Parallel.**

**(INSERT SMALL ARGUMENT HERE)**

**A/N(ParallelDimension75): I am going to kill you, Bunny. Slowly. With a very dull spoon.**

**And no, I am not going insert a 'small' argument there. One, because you can't tell me what to write, and two, because my ranting and raving wouldn't fit in a (pause for counting) 25-character long space.**

**SO I KIND OF WATCH HETALIA! AND I KIND OF WROTE A HETALIA FANFIC! SO WHAT? THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME A HETALIAN!**

**And I kind of ship AusHun, because I think Prussia is a big stupid jerk.**

**Ha! TAKE THAT, MINTBUNNY! (not the England one, the real and very annoying one who wrote this story)**

**And turn ^J^ cute Russia face into `_J_` creepy Stalin face. Cute Russia is too nice and cute for this VERY SERIOUS and VERY HEATED discussion, or debate (argument).**

**BTW, MintBunny, have a serious problem with adjectives that don't fully describe the situation. I mean, when it says 'Or maybe the Russian had scared him off' the adjective used to be creepy. CREEPY. I mean, seriously, if you were face to face with Russia you would not be 'creeped out'. YOU WOULD BLOODY TERRIFIED!**

**A/N (ThatOneFlyingMintBunny)**

**Mmmhmmm. Deny it all you like, Parallel. I read your profile. And I know where you live. (Not that I would be able to do anything once I got there- maybe because of my lack of skill and available weapons, maybe because I'm too clumsy to scale the high walls and get past your guard bunny undetected, or maybe because I need an "easily aggravated" (read: acts just like Iggy. (Parallel, you even have a bunny. Don't deny it.)) Beta-reader. Your choice. All three options are plausible.)**

**I feel that cute Russia is much, _much _more fitting for this VERY SERIOUS, VERY HEATED, VERY ONE-SIDED debate. Also, remember how you _just _described Stalin Russia? Creepy, that's how.**

**Also, once you've done killing me with that spoon, it is my last wish that you read, and watch, every Hetalia moment. 50 times. You can't mess with a girl's Last Will and Testament.**

**My other final wishes are that you tell all my watchers on Deviantart and so on that I have died, and that you write my fate on my gravestone. In Verdana font- It's my favourite. My headstone should read:**

**Here lies ThatOneFlyingMintBunny.**

**Avid author, devoted Whovian, brilliant Brony, loyal Hetalian, lover of all things Ace Attorney and Ghosttrick, and all-round Yaoi fangirl. She was killed via spoon.**

**Now, for the name translations that make my work decipherable:**

**Evan= Russia, obviously.**

** THE GINGERS:**

**The parents: The British Isles (Not the same as Britian/England/UK)**

**Teenage Ginger= Wales**

**The other young red-head: Ireland**

**Allistor= Scotland**


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